


The Gift

by Wynja2007



Series: Kovalia [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birthday, F/M, Fruit, Loneliness, Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Mesri is meant to be celebrating her birthday. But she finds herself looking back over birthdays past, and to one in particular that changed her life forever...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Early Present

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created as a tribute to JRR Tolkien. I acknowledge no ownership or rights excpet to my original characters and plot, and make no money from this work.
> 
> With thanks to Gemstarzah. my Beta-reader, for hard work and helpful comments

A gift, it is said, is always a sacrifice. The one parting with the gift no longer has it in their possession once it has been given. Or it has cost them money or time or trouble.

I reminded myself of this as I looked at the offerings spread for my forty-second birthday. 

There was a tapestry for the wall of my bedchamber, portraying the historic moment when I formally signed the treaty to bring my lands under the aegis of King Elessar. The craftswomen had made me slenderer than I had been then, my hair longer and brighter. But they had got the king’s nose wrong. 

It made me smile.

I had seen him, once, before he came to fame, sitting outside a tavern with his cloak folded around his shoulders and his long legs crossed at the ankles. A passing pot boy had stumbled and would have fallen, but that the king had reached out to stay him.

So when I saw the king, and realised he was the same as the man outside the tavern, my mind was made up; a king who cared about a pot boy’s welfare was the sort of man I wanted on my side. We have many pot boys in my poor lands. 

As well as the tapestry, there were sweets and dainties – it didn’t matter now, what I ate, so I could forget the need to be sensible. A bowl of fruit held apples, grapes, and even a kovalia fruit, a local delicacy, precious and rare, with a tough hide to protect its tender centre. 

It was years since I’d eaten kovalia.

My son and his wife had given me a selection of needlework supplies – needles and fabrics and bright coloured thread and all one could need to occupy oneself without getting up.

Because soon I would no longer be able to get up.

I am only forty-two, but I am not expected to live until I am forty-three. It is sad, but it is how it is. The hot, dry air that sweeps over the passes burns holes in our lungs, so they say, and we fail. That I lived this long, to raise a son to follow me and see him married and with an heir, is a huge achievement, especially as I was widowed at nineteen, just months after my marriage.

I found I was smiling in spite of the nagging pain in my back and chest as I struggled to breathe. Not because I was widowed, but because I survived my widowhood for so long. My people had liked me, and try as he might, my brother could not oust me. The best he could do was insist that if I were not present during council meetings, then the council would decide policy without my presence. I made sure never to miss a council meeting, and I had made sure I paid attention. I noticed everything; who was absent from the council meeting, who slept with whom, who the spies were. I listened, and I heard, and I pondered, and I gathered all the information I could to keep my people safe.

I had not had a realm, or a kingdom. I had the fiefdom of a few scattered villages and small towns, but we held the mountain passes on the main road to the Southron lands and as such, we had a strategic importance to both Gondor and the South. My brother favoured the south, but I did not believe their promises, nor their threats.  
It had come to be a pattern from Briot, my brother, that the night before a council meeting there would be a distraction for me. He would insist on a large state dinner in the hopes I would overindulge and sleep late to miss the meeting. Or he would bring the time of the meeting forward by an hour and forget to mention it.   
One particular year, on the eve of my birthday, he left me a gift in my bed; a pretty young man to keep me warm and content and perhaps very busy. I enjoyed the night so much that I told Briot he could give me one of these every year.

The night before my twenty-second birthday, I excused myself from the celebrations early. The next day heralded the most important council meeting in our little fiefdom’s history; the ratification of our decision to join with Gondor. Once we had done this, our neighbours would follow suit, and we would be in a far better situation politically and economically. I had already made it plain that Gondor was the future for our country and most of the council was behind me, only Briot and his few supporters holding out for a Southron alliance.

I did not fear murder. I had made it perfectly clear that on my death, or if I were not seen for more than two days, my lands would be ceded to Gondor, and the relevant documents had already been lodged in Gondor, Ithilien, and Rohan.

No, I did not fear assassination; I feared distraction.

 

Oh, and such a distraction waited for me!

I could see from the doorway that there was somebody in my bed. Having determined it would be wiser not to indulge, still, I would allow the poor man to stay there and rest, since to throw him out of my room might have earned him a beating.

My maid set down the lamp on the side table, a smile tugging at her mouth, but she managed not to giggle until we were in my dressing room.

‘It would seem Lord Briot had gifted you early for your birthday,’ she said as she helped me off with my robes of state, leaving me wearing the long linen shift I would sleep in. ‘Should I still call you at seventh hour, my lady?’

‘Make it sixth hour,’ I said. ‘And good night.’

She curtseyed her way out and I was left alone with my present. I had slept alone for the last year, and I was rather looking forward to peeling off the wrappers of bedding and seeing what was inside, my resolve not to partake already faltering.

The figure in the bed twitched. Had my gift been asleep? It made me smile, to think that Briot had found me a less-than-alert plaything. Unless the poor wretch was exhausted from someone else trying him out first, which would not have been good manners.

But I was lonely and five years widowed and the simple comfort of warm arms would be welcome.

I brought the lamp to the bedside table so that the light fell on the bed. The bundle under the bedding twitched again, and I carefully drew down the covers to better examine my gift.

He was utterly beautiful. His hair was that shining golden brown so rare this far south and his skin was creamy and flawless. Strong, dark eyebrows framed the eyes, currently held closed; no – clamped tight shut as if in fear, or as a child does when feigning sleep. The nose was straight and in perfect proportion, the cheekbones sharp enough to cut yourself on, the line of the jaw so defined and pure that I ached to trace it with my fingers, with my tongue. The lips were luscious and tempting and I caught my breath at the sight. He smelled of fresh air, springtime meadows full of flowers, grass after rain, and I filled my senses with him on every level that I could, delighting in the looks of him, savouring the sweet, soft fragrance.

I had uncovered him only to the neck, seeking to gently wake him, but knowing he was awake, his eyes screwed up, I felt a brief impatience, pulling the covers down to his shoulders.

And then I noticed several things in such close succession that I was forever afterwards unable to tell which I had seen first.

On my moving the covers, he had flinched, and his throat convulsed as he turned his head away from me. I saw, then, from the way his hair fell away, that he had delicate, pointed tips to his ears. Gazing in astonished wonder, I gently brushed the hair back from his face to tuck it behind that elegant ear and he gave a soft whimper, but more distressing even than the sound of his fear was the leather collar around his neck and I thought my heart would break.

This was no hireling, here to serve his lady’s pleasure; this was an unwilling guest.

And, what was more, this was an elf.


	2. Kovalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mesri's attempts to communicate with the stranger in her bed do not go entirely to plan...

I staggered back in shock, trying to make sense of this, to understand the implications; the King of Gondor was an Elf-Friend; he was married to a great elven lady and if it were to get out that I had a captive elf in my bed the night before the documents were to be signed…

Really, though, that didn’t matter at the moment; what mattered was this poor, collared creature hiding and cowering away from me. What had they done to him, before they brought him here? How much had he already suffered?

‘I do not want to hurt you,’ I said, trying to keep my voice gentle and reassuring. ‘I only wish to see you. Are you injured?’

Perhaps my tone was kind enough to lessen his fear, for he turned his head back and opened his eyes. Oh, such eyes as they were! A clear, silver blue, so old and so wise, but there was something else there, too.

There were tears.

He tried to speak, but I didn’t understand him. I didn’t think he’d understood me, either; we have our own tongue here, and I had never needed any other. I knew no Westron or Elvish and only a few words of the Rohirrim language from a chance encounter in happier days.

I reached for the covers again to slide them a little further, seeking only for any injuries, but he grabbed at the edge of the sheets across his chest and spoke again, rapidly and softly, his tone pleading.

‘How may I help you when you will not let me near you?’ I asked, but, of course, he didn’t understand. I huffed out my breath. This ‘gift’ was, indeed, a distraction, but it was not at all the sort of distraction I had expected tonight. ‘Are you hungry, are you thirsty?’

I took a few steps away from the bed to find those glorious eyes on me. I tried a mime, putting my fingers to my mouth and pretending to eat something. He hesitated before nodding, so I crossed to the fruit bowl and selected a bunch of grapes for him, taking them over and placing them near where his long fingers gripped tight the sheets. 

Giving him privacy to eat, I gave my attention back to the fruit bowl. Amongst the apples and pears there was a kovalia, too. They were delicious, but hard work, for they were protected from the harsh local conditions with a hard outer casing, and I picked up the serrated knife accompanying it to slice through the hard skin and expose the soft, aromatic flesh of the fruit within.

A knife…

The Desert Sprits knew I wanted no unwilling bed-friend, so I carried the knife across with the sliced fruit. The grapes were gone, and I saw the elf lick his fingers, his lips. The pit of my stomach fell away as desire growled in my belly in a most unladylike manner. He inclined his head towards me, still cautious, and said a few words, ‘thank you,’ perhaps. I hoped it was ‘thank you,’ anyway.

‘This is kovalia,’ I said, and broke a piece of the soft flesh in half, handing him some while preparing to eat the other section myself. I hoped sharing food with him would show him I would not hurt him, not after we’d eaten together.

‘Kovalia,’ he repeated, lowering his eyes and inclining his head. Pointing his fingers at his chest, he said: ‘Lindir. Kovalia… Lindir…’

‘Oh. No, it’s not my name!’ I protested, but he was nodding now, and the slight curve of his lips suggested how breath-taking he would be if he really smiled. ‘You’re Lindir? Your name is Lindir?’

‘Lindir.’

‘I’m Mesri, Pleased to meet you, Lindir. I wish it were under different circumstances.’ I gestured towards myself. ‘Mesri,’ I repeated. ‘Are we friends now?’

‘Kovalia?’ he asked, following this with a string of words I couldn’t make any sense of.

But the language sounded as lovely as the gentle eyes and beautiful face of the elf and just listening to it filled my heart with joy.

‘Let’s get you out of that collar,’ I said, and, unthinking, reached towards him with the knife.

‘Avo!’ he cried out. ‘Avo, Kovalia!’

He had pushed himself back automatically as he shouted, his arms trying to come up to protect his throat, and I cursed myself for a fool and then cried out myself as I saw that his wrists were cuffed with leather and a bright steel chain ran from them to somewhere beneath the bedding.

‘Lindir, it’s all right! Oh, forgive me, I am so sorry…’ I made placating gestures and backed away. ‘I did not think, my only intention was to free you…’

I turned the knife in my hand so that the blade was on my palm and the handle towards him, and I offered it to him with a bow of my head. He could do what he wanted with the damn knife, he could kill me if he wanted, at that moment I really didn’t care. My death would, after all, ensure the future security of my people.

He whispered something softly, stretching his hand out over the knife. His fingers trembled and then his hand closed over mine for an instant, the touch of his skin hot and waking all the nerves in my body with the fire of the contact. 

All this was rapidly becoming too much for me; Lindir’s intense beauty and the great sorrow I felt for him, my own yearning desires and the upsurge of my loneliness threatened to overwhelm me, and I went to sit at the foot of the bed with my back to him. Let him kill me. Let him stick that silly little knife in the side of my neck and let me bleed my life out in penance for his capture. He wouldn’t know I had nothing to do with him being here.

I heard clinking, rattling sounds and felt the bed move as Lindir changed position. I steeled myself.

But all that happened was a gentle hand found my shoulder and Lindir’s voice came from beside my ear.

‘Kovalia, le fael,’ he said, clearly and slowly, gently pulling me round to look at him. He gave me that look again, the closed eyes, the bow of the head, a hand to his chest. ‘Le fael.’

I could see a red weal on Lindir’s wrist where the leather of the cuff had chafed his perfect skin, and I guessed his other wrist had suffered similarly. When he lifted his head, too, I saw his throat was marked and I reached out automatically towards him. He took my hand between his own and he smiled sadly, beautifully. He didn’t want me touching his throat. 

‘Let me see if I have anything for that,’ I said, reluctantly retrieving my hand and going over to my cosmetics table. I rarely used cosmetics, but there was a salve I used to soothe my skin from too much sun, and I found it and offered it to Lindir. He took off the lid and sniffed the contents, while I mimed rubbing something into my wrists. 

He nodded and tipped his head to one side to apply some of the salve to his neck. The movement exposed his throat and I watched, fascinated, wishing I were the one smoothing salve on his skin. The bedding slid down, exposing his torso. Not a warrior’s body, but still, there was nothing slack about his wonderfully-sculpted chest and flat stomach.

I tried, but failed, to keep my eyes on his face.

Finished with his throat and wrists, he extended a foot out from the bedding and I realised there had been ankle cuffs as well; I could only be grateful they had been leather, and easy to cut away – presumably, Briot had realised I would object to sleeping with someone in metal shackles. The other ankle followed and then, after a minute’s hesitation, he handed me the pot with a few words and then turned his back, lowering the bedding so that I could see another red weal, just above his hips; it moved me greatly that he was prepared to let me to help.

I dipped my fingers into the salve and spread it softly across the raised, red skin. It was a crime to spoil his beautiful body like this, and if I found out who had so confined and harmed him…

No. I already knew who had done this: Briot. I would not let this pass.

I finished soothing the salve to his lower back and his sides, realised that the injury would have continued all around his body and that moving the bedding to attend to the front of his body would leave him very exposed. And while I had previously wondered and hungered for the sight of him, now it seemed wrong, disrespectful.

Handing him back the little pot, I got up from the bed and walked deliberately to the table where a decanter of wine and a glass waited for me. Hmm. Previously, when Briot had arranged for a man in my bed, there had been two glasses. It was another sign that Lindir was a captive, and I hated it.

Suddenly I really needed a drink.

I unstoppered the decanter and poured the deep red wine into the glass, lifting it to twirl the stem between my fingers and watch as the liquid slurred around the inside.

‘Avo! Kovalia, avo!’ Lindir was at my side and knocked the glass out of my hands even as I went to lift it to my lips. Red liquid sprayed everywhere, the glass bouncing and rolling on the thick brown rug on the floor. I stared at Lindir, stunned. He let out a stream of words, none of which made any sense to me, pointing at the decanter and the glass and the spray of red across the floor from the spillage.

‘What?’ What’s up?’

He took my hands in his and looked into my eyes. ‘Avo!’ he repeated, and released me to cautiously pick up the glass. He pointed into it, turned it to the light and I saw a film of something clouding the interior of the glass.

‘The wine was drugged?’ I sniffed at the decanter gingerly. I wasn’t sure, but I thought it smelled odd, off somehow. It wouldn’t have been poison, of course, but a sleeping draught would have kept my nicely away from the morning council session. Nor did it escape my attention that there had been just enough wine for one full glass – a carefully measured dose, then.

Lindir took the almost-empty decanter from me and put it down. ‘Avo’, he repeated, and led me away from the wine.

And it was then that I realised that, in his haste to stop me from drinking drugged wine, Lindir had lost his covering of bedding and was completely, temptingly naked.

I turned and fled into my adjacent dressing room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'le fael' used here as an expression of gratitude  
> 'avo' used here for 'Don't!'
> 
> Please feel free to correct my Sindarin. It is on my list of things to do, but not at the top quite yet.


	3. Blood and Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 'Kovalia' is devastated when she works out what happened to Lindir before she found him...

I took a moment to calm my breathing. I rested my hands against my face, feeling the heat of my flushed cheeks against my fingers. It was unfair! I had never hungered so much for a man as I did now for this elf, and I could do nothing about it.

There was a trunk against the far wall which I opened, rummaging around until I found something vaguely masculine for Lindir to cover his nakedness with. More by chance than by choice, some of my late husband’s clothes were in there; a pair of soft brown trousers he’d worn for hunting, a dark blue tunic. I shook them out and folded them over my arm before going back into my bedroom.

I didn’t look at Lindir; I kept my eyes averted as I held out the garments, but his fingertips beneath my chin tipped my face up so that I had no option but to meet his eyes.

‘Le fael, Kovalia.’

He released me and took the clothes, and I turned away, intending to sit on the bed and compose myself. But what I saw simply enraged and distressed me further.  
The covers had spilled off the bed and in the centre of the mattress where Lindir had lain, amongst the wreckage of chains and leather strips, was a streak of blood. Not a huge amount, but a significant stain, fresh, and I felt sick. No wonder he had flinched away when I had had tried to draw down the covers.

Briot! Oh, my brother would pay for this! My anger burned white-hot and I felt tears of rage stinging my eyes. I tore my gaze away. I couldn’t breathe.

Crossing to the window, I opened it and took huge gulps of the night air. It was dry and bitter, not sweet like a spring meadow after rain, but it cleansed my heart and helped clear my head and my fury began to subside.

‘Kovalia?’ Lindir touched my shoulder lightly, his voice soft. As I turned towards him, he laid his finger on my lips and tipped his head in the direction of the small room beyond mine where my maid slept. 

Lindir’s hearing was obviously far better than my own, for I’d not heard anything, but suddenly he pulled me back from the window, his eyes urgent, and he pushed me onto the bed, hastily joining me and gathering the covers from the floor to throw over us both before reaching to douse the lamp.

Outside, I finally heard a sound, the softest of clicks, my maid’s door and I felt my heart hammering in my chest. Her voice, hushed, enquiring, and the rumble of a man replying; I knew that tone, it was Briot. My anger flared in me again, but I tried to make myself stay calm; the more enraged I was, the easier it would be for Briot to best me. I made myself do what I had been doing ever since I had been widowed three years earlier; I paid attention.

To everything.

I strained my ears and caught fractions, half words.

‘…lord, It’s…’

‘…just do what I…’

Beside me in the bed, Lindir had tensed and I knew he, too, recognised Briot’s voice. I really didn’t want to think why, especially not now, when I needed to concentrate.   
What was he asking my maid? I’d recently become aware of a change in her, but had thought her loyal… had she known about the drugged wine? I tried to imagine what I would look like, had I actually drunk it and fallen asleep, and I spread my limbs accordingly, making sure Lindir was covered properly so that, were anyone to glance into the room, the lack of leather collar around his neck would not be noticed. The clothes I’d found for him lay abandoned on the floor on the far side of the bed where they wouldn’t be seen from the doorway.

The voices were louder now, or my hearing had sharpened.

‘…my lord, she’s barely had time to taste him, never mind the wine…’

So my maid had known. Even though I’d half-expected it, it still felt like a betrayal.

‘Well? Do whatever it is maids do. Knock, or something! See if she’s asleep yet. I want to get him out of there…’

And then what?

All I could think of doing was to move, to cover Lindir with my body in such a way that moving him would seem impossible to do without waking me.

He flinched, but I had not chance to murmur reassurance because then came the soft tap at my door.

‘My lady?’

The door opened a fraction and a line of light from the hall spilled in.

‘Did you call, my lady?’ she had the cheek to ask.

Of course, if I told her to leave me alone, that would scupper whatever plans Briot might have, but the decanter was standing on the table, almost empty, and she might notice. 

Instead, I stirred slightly, lifting my head and mumbling something indistinct, making sure I became even more entangled with poor Lindir.

The door was pulled to, the line of light narrowing.

‘She’s just about off, my lord. But she’s wrapped all around him worse than the bedding!’

‘Better wait until the drug deepens, then. So. What can we do to fill in the time, do you think?’ His voice lowered as he made suggestions too quiet for me to hear. ‘Hmm?’

The maid giggled, but made only a token protest, one that did, however, have me longing to fly from the bed and bury the fruit knife in one of Briot’s eyes.

‘Oh, my lord! You want me to do what for you? When you’ve been inside him? There? I’ll have to wash you first! ’

She giggled and the door closed. I heard them move off down the corridor; of course, Briot would want her in his own rooms, not in her little chamber.

As soon as I was sure they were gone, I untangled myself from Lindir and slid away from him in the bed, hoping he understood I’d only been trying to protect him.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked. 

Having put out the lamp, the room was very dim, but I was loath to relight it in in case Briot came back, so I couldn’t see Lindir’s expression. I’d heard elves could see perfectly well in the dark; was that so? I hoped so, I hoped he could see in my face that I was worried about him and that I hadn’t intended anything other than to protect him.

‘I’m sorry; I didn’t know what else to do… I was only...’

Lindir laid his finger briefly on my lips and drew close to me. He shivered in the darkness and it was natural that I open my arms to him. Perhaps it was equally natural for him to respond by leaning in so that I could put my arms about him. I squeezed gently, my hands on his back trying to comfort and soothe him, and then his body was on top of mine, his lips seeking my mouth. I submitted, surrendered to the kiss, ridiculously grateful for this morsel of affection.

But instead of breaking the kiss, he deepened it, sliding his tongue into my mouth, shocking me with the heat and need from his tongue, and his hands came to tangle in my hair as his body pressed against me and I felt the iron length of him against my thigh.

My hands slid down his back to glide over his hips and he released my mouth, and my hair, to lift his head and look down into my face with radiant eyes and now, even in the darkness of the room, I saw his full smile and it was every bit as wonderful as I had expected.

‘Kovalia?’ Lindir whispered, and there was a tremor in his voice, a plea, and I welcomed him into my arms, and although we couldn’t understand a word each other said, our bodies understood a different language, and they spoke it very well indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Gemstarzah for her excellent Beta-reading.


	4. A Knife and a Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 'Kovalia' has a knife held to her throat.

I woke to find warm arms around me, a hand stroking my skin and I lifted my head to find Lindir’s wide gaze looking down at me. He laid his fingertips on my lips and cocked his head towards the window, disengaging from the embrace and pushing himself up in bed. About to move myself, I realised that at some point I had parted company with my linen shift, and hastened to retrieve it from the depths of the bed, pulling it on over my head. 

Lindir had been similarly busy and was fastening the cords on the leggings I’d found for him earlier, now looking anxiously towards the door, although I could hear nothing from outside.

The fruit knife was on the table next to the bed; I passed it to him, handle first, and then pointed towards the dressing room; he could hide in there until Briot had left; I would pretend to be still sleeping and not to know where my ‘gift’ had gone.

Lindir nodded, snatching up the tunic from the floor to take with him. He pulled the dressing room door almost shut and I lay back down, trying hard not to relax and appear properly asleep.

The bedroom door cracked open. I swallowed and concentrated on lying still.

There was a cold slice of metal at my throat, a hand holding me down and a voice whispering viciously in my ear. I had no idea what my attacker was saying until I caught one word: ‘Lindir…’

I opened my eyes to see two shadows creeping over the window ledge. Their movements were liquid, smooth, and they were utterly silent. One went to the outer door and the other headed for my dressing room, and it was with relief I saw the pointed tip to an ear and recognised my attackers for elves.

‘Lindir’s through there,’ I said, hoping one or other of them would understand. The knife pressed harder against my throat; it was not a pleasant experience.  
But then Lindir’s voice came from within the dressing room, and the elf outside stood down, speaking in the same soft language. Lindir replied and opened the door, coming out slowly.

I saw joy and relief in the face of the one nearest him; he grasped Lindir by the arms and looked into his face, firing off a string of quiet questions. Lindir began to answer, and then looked over towards me, horror in his eyes as he launched into a tirade of hissing invective, pointing at me and the elf with the knife at my throat. He pushed past his friend and came over to wave the knife away and sit on the bed to gather me into his arms. I noticed, as if from a distance, that I was shaking now the knife had been withdrawn, and I was very grateful for the warmth and comfort of his embrace. Keeping one arm about me, he tilted my chin to make sure my neck wasn’t cut, talking softly to me all the time.

‘I’m fine,’ I told him. ‘I’m fine.’

The elf at the door waved a hand, and we fell silent. Lindir’s friend, near the dressing room, nodded towards the window; time to leave.

‘Le fael, Koviala,’ Lindir said, and, in front of his stunned friends, kissed me tenderly. ‘Mellon-nin.’

‘Mesri,’ I said. ‘It’s Mesri.’

‘Mesri,’ he repeated, picked up the remaining half of the kovalia fruit on the table, and slipped out of the window along with his friends.

 

It was the sixth hour when I heard a soft knock at my door and it was finally beginning to get light. I hadn’t slept; instead, I’d collected up the remains of Lindir’s chains and hidden them in the trunk in the dressing room, pulled the bed straight and hidden the knife under my pillow. I’d spent a long time running through possibilities in my mind; how to handle Briot, how to get rid of my maid without it looking suspicious. How to bring Briot to justice and what to do, should I be called to explain myself to King Elessar.

‘Come in,’ I said.

My maid came in, dropped into a curtsey, and began to speak.

‘I fully expect you to be extremely disappointed with my service, Lady Mesri, but I should first like to make you aware that your brother appears to have partaken of rather a lot of red wine and he looks likely to be sleeping it off for most of the day…’ she waved at the rug. ‘I think I should clear that up for you, too. It does not smell as strongly as it did in the night, but the scent is lingering…’

‘Oh? Are you telling me…?’

‘That I did not see anything I could do except agree to help Lord Briot, but I swear I did not know he would bring a captive to your bed, and that I most eternally grateful he lost consciousness before I had to make good my promise! And now, my lady, if there’s nothing more, I believe there is a council meeting this morning I need to dress you for?’ 

 

By mid-morning I realised I was really enjoying my birthday.

The council chamber had been humming all morning; the draft treaty and all the other relevant documents had been signed, I’d arranged for it to be taken at once to Gondor with the intention of signing the treaty as soon as possible, if not sooner. We had discussed what would be involved in the actual ceremony, how many officials would likely be sent, and if we had enough bunting in stock to suitably decorate the township.

We broke proceedings for twenty minutes mid-morning and refreshments were brought in. I had ordered cake and light drinks. Many of the council members took the chance to wish me well for my year ahead and more than a few asked me if I knew where my brother had got to.

‘Maybe he’s sleeping off some heavy wine?’ I suggested innocently. ‘Now, while I have you here, and before we get back into session, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone in the town who could teach me Elvish, do you?’

‘Elvish, my lady?’

‘Yes; I want to learn Westron too, of course, but I know the high king has many elves at his court and I would like us to present ourselves in as good a manner as possible.’ I smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I shan’t make anybody else do so, of course. But it might be to our advantage and I would like to begin lessons today, if you can find anyone.’

‘Today, Lady Mesri?’

‘This afternoon, if possible. Oh, look; my brother has finally arrived!’

The door slammed shut after Briot and he stomped down the steps into the chamber’s heart. He looked furious, hungover, and dangerous, and I was glad I’d thought to give my maid a weeks’ leave to go and visit her grandmother while Briot’s rage died down and he came to his senses a little.

Truth to tell, I was a little nervous myself. But I’d decided on a course of action and I was going to stick with it.

‘Mesri…’ he began, in tones of thunder as he approached.

‘Briot!’ I gave him my sweetest smile and laid my hand on his arm. ‘Thank you so much for the gift! Such a thoughtful present, I really enjoyed... unwrapping it.’

I think he growled. I touched my hand to my head lightly.

‘Oh, but the wine was too much last night! I was almost late up, and found my maid had tidied everything away. Including, sadly, my lovely gift, but thank you!’ I smiled and moved off. ‘Have some cake, why don’t you? And some fruit juice.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'mellon-nin' my friend
> 
> Thanks to my Beta, Gemstarzah.


	5. The High King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady Mesri meets High King Elessar Telcontar

Time passed, messages flew between Gondor and my fiefdom, arrangements were made and the bunting was found and washed. I discovered, much to my delight and to the surprised astonishment of my advisors, that I was with child, and I hugged the knowledge tight to myself. I missed Lindir, but I had to set that aside and get on with sorting out my people’s future security. 

Still, every time I had a lesson in Sindar, I imagined talking to him in his own language. I practiced the variations of ‘sorry’ a thousand times.

It was six months after my birthday that the formal visit from the court of King Elessar Telcontar took place and my pregnancy was properly showing. I was honoured, and impressed, that King Elessar himself came to officiate, rather than sending his steward, and when I asked if it would be possible for me to have a few words with the High King in private, my wish was granted immediately.

‘In private’ really meant ‘with guards at the edges of the room’, but that was to be expected. They were out of earshot, at least.

‘I’d like to speak to you on a matter of… um…’ I began. 

The king waved me towards a chair. ‘Please, sit down,’ he began. ‘Forgive the informality, but my wife’s expecting and I recognise the signs. She is sure we will have a son, but I have no preference. Is this your first child?'

I nodded. While it would have been lovely to chat about pregnancy, it was an awkward topic I was attempting to bring up, and not all the long months I’d had to prepare had seemed to be at all helping. Nor had the fact that there were several elves amongst the king’s retinue, and while I recognised not of them, still, at the sight of every pointed ear and sound of elegant voice, guilt was crippling me.

King Elessar seemed to realise something was wrong.

‘Why do you not tell me what’s troubling you, Lady Mesri?’ he asked kindly.

I sighed and tried to keep my hands still on my lap. ‘Some months ago, now, there was an… an incident… and someone was kept against their will and... injured. I know who was responsible; I have evidence, but not proof and to bring this person to justice would be impossible for me. And the person harmed is a gentle, kind soul and would not like me to seek vengeance…’

‘How may I help, then?’

‘I think it would be a good idea if my brother Briot could be appointed special envoy somewhere. Possibly amongst a large number of big, strong men who have been alone for a long time without any new friends? Or maybe on an island with some sheep. No, not sheep; something that might kick him occasionally.’

‘Your brother?’

‘Yes.’

‘It was he who…?’

‘I see you know about it. Please, your majesty, do not think I have not hungered for reparation on behalf of the one who was harmed, for I grew most fond of him, but…’

I broke off as the king waved a hand. 

‘Since these events took place before our alliance, there is no blame on you, Lady Mesri.’

‘Thank you. Briot could go back with you, if you wanted?’

‘Perhaps I will instead permit some of my company to escort him to a suitable garrison where he can be useful. And perhaps they can leave tomorrow, whereas we will remain several more days.’

I couldn’t help a sigh of relief. Tension between Briot and myself had only increased over the previous six months, and I really only wanted to focus on growing my child and caring for my people.

‘Is there anything more?’ the king asked, but suddenly, he wasn’t the king any longer; he was the traveller outside the inn, the one who stopped the pot boy from falling.

‘Do you know someone called Lindir? Is he well?’ I asked.

‘Lindir? Yes, I hear he is very well. I did not know you were friends…’ He sat a little straighter, suddenly, staring at my enlarged belly until it felt like an impertinence and I placed my hands protectively over my stomach and lifted my chin to stare back at him. 

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘But are you Kovalia?’

I picked up one of the tough-skinned fruits from the display on the side table and presented it to him with a flourish. ‘This is a kovalia,’ I said. ‘I’m Mesri.’

He was still laughing when I closed the door after me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Gemstarzah for beta-reading.


	6. Birthday Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady Mesri returns to the present.

Ah, how the years had run by me! Raising my son and minding my people, learning new languages and new ideas; it had been wonderful, exhausting, amazing. 

I picked the kovalia from the bowl and found the knife, slicing carefully into its hide to reveal the lush, aromatic flesh within, savouring each slice of its tender, secret heart. 

Someone knocked on the door. ‘Mother? Are you awake?

‘It’s ninth hour!’ I called out. ‘Of course I’m awake! Let me see you, then!’

The door opened and my son came in, grinning. He was tall and strong and wore his hair longer than was common, but it suited him. The colour was unusual, too; a soft brown with golden lights and his eyes were a silvery blue. He seemed very young to be already a parent, but my grandson was three weeks old already and a delight to me.

‘Do you like your gifts?’ he asked. ‘Which is your favourite?’

‘So many lovely things, I do not know how to pick! Besides, my best birthday gift ever was you!’

‘Oh, you found the fruit!’ he exclaimed. ‘Funny, I didn’t know you liked those; you never said. It was hand-delivered for you, he insisted it had to be here for you for this morning…’

‘He?’ I asked, my heart pounding, my breathing shorter than ever. ‘Who? Is he still here?’

‘Oh, one of those elves from the north who came in late last night. He said he’d like to see you, if you feel…’

‘Yes, at once! Take me to him, Landril, please…!’

‘Mother, wait… you’re not well… he’s just outside…’

I must look a mess; I was up and dressed, yes, but I hadn’t even combed my hair, and…

And there was a tap at the open door and I could see a tall and familiar and longed-for figure in the doorway.

I couldn’t get the words out to invite him in; I waved, and my son got up and went to the door. ‘Well, Mother, I’ll leave you with your guest and come back with your breakfast in half an hour, yes?’

I leaned forward in my seat, and then he was there.

Lindir.

He came across and knelt by my chair and took me in his arms for a fragrant hug. I smelled spring meadows after rain, fresh air and joyfulness and he released me to look into my face and take my hands. I was sure I was crying.

‘Kovalia.’

‘You haven’t changed!’ I whispered.

‘I have,’ he said, smiling. ‘I merely look the same.’

‘Is everything well with you, Lindir?’

‘Yes, it is now,’ he said. ‘I wanted to visit before, but I heard about your child, and I assumed there was a husband also. And you were busy with your work and, well, twenty years is nothing to an elf. It is a flicker of sunshine over the leaves, it is a brief moment between the winter snows and the spring rains. Yet I have missed you every day.’

And I him. Except that I’d had him with me constantly, in my son’s eyes, in the shade of his hair, in his gentle, generous soul.

‘You’re ill, Kovalia,’ Lindir said. I shook my head.

‘I’m not Kovalia,’ I said. ‘I’m Mesri.’

‘Not to me,’ he said. ‘Although it does explain why nobody could find you afterwards. I did not dare come, lest your brother see me.’

‘King Elessar put him to work somewhere far away,’ I said. ‘I was never able to say; I didn’t ask…’

He laid his fingertips on my lips.

‘You had nothing to do with my kidnap and when you realised, you gave me a knife and clothes and then my stupid rescuers put a knife to your throat.’ He shrugged. ‘But that’s something we can talk about later. You’re ill.’

‘And I’m glad you’re here now. I have… I have a year, they say. It’s the air here…’

His hands folded over mine.

‘I know a place where you can receive help. My lord is a renowned healer, and while he cannot promise you a cure, he can offer you relief from the pain and more time. Perhaps not forty or fifty years, but longer, certainly. I can feel how you’re struggling now, dear Kovalia, to breathe, I hear the pain of it. Will you come with me to Rivendell? The air is sweet and clear, not dry and harsh. These are good times to travel, your family can visit whenever they wish and you may even recover enough to make the journey back to visit them here as well, in time. Will you come?’

It was tempting. But there were one or two things I needed to sort out before I could make a decision.

‘Let me think about it. Will you be here long?’

‘As long as you wish.’ He smiled and stroked my hand. 

 

It was probably my best birthday ever. We had all feared it would be my last, but now it was full of promise. Lindir was at my side through the official lunch, through the quiet of the afternoon. He was there when my daughter-in-law brought my grandson to me, and I saw his startled joy when I brushed the baby’s hair back to reveal a tiny, pointed tip.

‘My son has my ears,’ I said. ‘But he has your eyes.’

‘Please come back with me.’

‘I’m touched you care about me, Lindir.’

‘Care about you?’ He tested the words. We’d been using Westron, a second tongue for us both. ‘The language is lacking; I love you, surely you know that?’

‘Is that the same as ‘le melin’?’ I asked, trying out my long-ago-learned Sindarin. He burst into delighted laughter and nodded.

‘Yes, indeed so, although ‘gi melin’ is more appropriate. Gi melin, Kovalia.’

And after that, there was nothing left to do, of course, but pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le melin A formal way of saying ‘I love you’  
> Gi melin An informal way of saying ‘I love you’
> 
> Please do not hesitate to correct my Sindarin if required.
> 
> Many thanks to Gemstarzah for Beta-reading and rereading.


End file.
